


Conversations

by CombatantMilk



Series: The Clearest Moment of Our Friendship [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cannibalism, Hannibal Summer of Rare Pairs, Hannibal ruins lives, Including his own, Jack is not quite having an affair, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-13 13:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2153271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CombatantMilk/pseuds/CombatantMilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conversations. That's all they were having right? Harmless. Until they weren't.</p><p>Jack toes the line of having an affair when Hannibal is the only person he can open up to about Bella, work, everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the Tumblr 2014 Fannibal Summer of Rare Pairs

Darkness rushes over him. The world is a disorienting wave that carries his body, helpless, with the stream. He can’t move. His fingers scrape and scramble for purchase, finding none. His left arm feels miles away, detached. When he opens his eyes he sees only darkness that pours in and fills his very being.

  
The sudden jolt of surfacing nearly ends him. Breathing becomes a painful affair as liquid clogs his lungs and throat. The world reaches out with blunt fingers and tosses him on the bank. He gasps and retches. When he reaches out with his left arm for support, he collapses onto nothing, the arm absent. His retching takes over until his body is nothing more than a heaving mess.

  
Jack thankfully comes back to reality just as his dream self coughs up a bloody ear. His bed shakes but not with his own dry heaving. It’s Bella this time. Her body, weak from her illness, fights itself as her sick lungs spasm in a horrific fit.

  
The start of another day for Jack and Bella Crawford.

  
\---

  
Jack admits his humor has seen better days. Lately his laughter finds him less and less. Not that there isn’t good reason for his poor humor. Will Graham in prison. Alana Bloom pointing fingers at Jack. And now he did not even have Bella’s usual light to lift his spirits.  
When he spoke of his wife, he always told of how it was her beauty that caught his eye. But it was her humor that had won him over, his Bella. He learned very early he would do anything to make her laugh in turn. Her radiance when she laughed outshone even the sun.

  
Now his Bella could not laugh without her seizing in a terrible fit, her lungs struggling to cope. Bella’s radiance is dimming. Jack could no longer go to her for comfort and he didn’t expect that of her. Bella’s job right now is to manage her health.  
Without her support, Jack’s guilty pleasure is his weekly dinners at Hannibal’s. It had all begun so innocently, two new colleagues discussing work over a good meal. Then they were friends. Hannibal became someone Jack trusted and confided in often.

  
And now Jack did not have a word for what they are. First hands had lingered on shoulders for just a second too long. Then a hand rested on the other’s knee while laughing at an elegantly told but hilarious anecdote. Stress levels rose. Bella spent more and more time at the doctor or in the care of her mother. Hannibal would fill his wine glass just a little too often until strong hands found a sharp jaw and somehow they were on the couch.

  
Jack thinks Hannibal looks best with his tie undone and his hair ruffled, the picture of composure soiled. He feels like a teenager again, sneaking behind his parents’ backs to meet up with boys and girls alike. Hannibal never pushes, never insists Jack come to see him rather than Bella. He does not comment on Jack’s aversion to any serious mention of taking things to Hannibal’s bedroom or of greater disloyalties to his wife. Hannibal is, as always, ever the gentleman. Jack can’t stay in the right mood when he thinks of Bella.

  
He faces each new encounter with a flush of guilt and excitement. Tonight however is different.

  
“Will is a loss,” Hannibal says as he sits at the head of the table, “and we’re mourning a death.” Jack grinds his teeth. This is a topic that have been covering far too often lately. Hannibal savors his displeasure, would drink it up if he could. Jack, when pushed in the correct ways, can be like a fine meal in his desperate expressiveness. Hannibal can’t seem to get enough.

  
“Will’s death is on me, not you.” Hannibal stops eating and reaches out carefully, his hand a familiar weight on top of Jack’s, a reminder of how frequent this has become.

  
“It’s on both of us.” Hannibal leaves no room for argument. But that doesn’t mean Jack leaves it at that. The taste of Jack’s failure is sharp in Hannibal’s mouth, gets his heart beating just a tad faster. He feels the same anticipation he experiences before a hunt, a kill.

  
Finally the only matter they can agree upon is an investigation into Hannibal. If Will insists on placing these crimes upon Hannibal, then it is up to Jack to clear his name. He refuses to lose anything more than he already has.

  
Later, on their usual destination of Hannibal’s couch, Jack finds it within himself to make light of the entire situation. He is sprawled on top of the doctor, his tie gone and his shirt half unbuttoned. His large hands wander Hannibal’s bared torso, teeth nipping playfully at his throat.

  
“Do you think this will be a significant enough investigation, doctor?” Jack quips, his lips pressed to Hannibal’s jaw. Hannibal chuckles.

  
“It certainly is a thorough start.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

“Jack Crawford doesn’t know what you’re capable of.” Bedelia’s tone was icy, her stare like two frozen spikes into Hannibal’s steady gaze.

“Jack is my friend.” Hannibal had responded then, during their previous session. Now she stood in his office, his territory. She could feel the essence of his power seeping from the very walls of the room.

“I won’t be staying long…We won’t be having a next session.” Bedelia hid her fast beating heart and shaking knees with a stone wall face. She may be frightened but she is also resolved to end this before she is in too deep.

Behind his desk, Hannibal is collected, calm. He hides his own power, his wrath behind his own wall of indifference as always. Ever the perfectly calm and collected gentleman.

“Are you giving me a referral?”

“No, I am simply ending our patient-psychiatrist relationship.” Hannibal approaches then. Every step he takes is a full-out assault on her defenses. This is a war and she is ready for a full tactical retreat.

“You tried to end it before.” Still calm. She explains. She sees Hannibal. Sees what he has done with Will Graham, what he would do with her.

“Have you shared your accusations with Jack Crawford?” She takes a step back. Hannibal’s question is pointed, a thrown dagger that barely misses her cheek.

“No. He will see you soon enough. I only hope that it will not be too late. Like it was for Will Graham.” Like it might be for me, she almost says but to do so would show her hand. She has to stay a step ahead, her agility in this game is all that is saving her.

“My conclusion is that you are dangerous.”

“Doctor, join me over here.” Hannibal pulls away from the science team and the corpse over to Jack, quite enjoying his false show of bumbling around the morgue. He could smell them, each one of the scientists. Price was sour, too much alcohol in his system, his quips about being an alcoholic might not be so far off the mark. Zeller was sweet, almost fruity. Hannibal could almost taste the sauvignon blanc that would go with him. Beverly Katz would make an elegant spread on his dinner table. Her kidneys perhaps.

“There may be trace evidence in the craquelure….” The group worked through the evidence with some particularly insightful deductions coming from Ms. Katz, something that neither Hannibal nor Jack failed to notice. After, as Jack and Beverly left to his office, supposedly to discuss her visiting Will, Hannibal did some investigation of his own.

The body laid out before him, he leaned in for a quick sniff. Ah, there it was. The fields of the American Midwest spread out before him. A corn field. How interesting.

\--

Passing Beverly Katz as she left Jack’s office, Hannibal slipped in through the closing door, his footsteps spreading like a soft mist through the room. Jack’s back was turned to the door, his head in his hands. Hannibal observed him, ever the predator, hunger flashing briefly through his eyes before his usual mask fell into place. He cleared his throat.

Jack startles and Hannibal apologizes, quietly. He stops and leans against Jack’s desk, standing before Jack in his chair.

“Did you need something doctor?” Swiftly, Hannibal planted one hand on Jack’s desk, the other coming to rest on his cheek. He kissed Jack quickly, once against startling the other man, before pulling away just as fast.

“Hannibal,” Jack’s voice held a stern warning tone, “we are in my office.”

“You looked like you needed that.” Was Hannibal’s simple response. Jack’s hand came up to rest on the desk, gripping Hannibal’s wrist there. “Are you stressed Jack?”

“That’s an understatement.” He pulled away from Hannibal, rolling his chair back Hannibal straightened. “Don’t worry about me, Hannibal, please. I’ll be fine.”

“We will catch this killer Jack. Soon, I think.” The doctor fidgeted briefly with his suit jacket, picking off an imagined bit of lint before turning to leave.

“Hannibal, wait.” Jack stood and walked around his desk. With a nervous glance at his office door, he gripped Hannibal’s wrist again and pressed in for a more lingering kiss. “I did need that. Thank you for checking in on me.”

“You’ll come see me? Dinner tomorrow?” Jack nodded.

“Of course.”

\--

The next afternoon, Hannibal sawed a human leg in half in his kitchen. Classical music swelled pleasantly in the background as his home began to fill with the savory scents of the meat cooking. He grabbed his cell phone and pulled up Jack’s contact. He typed out a quick text, something he only did while busy cooking.

“Looking forward to dinner. I’ve made something special.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Your therapist, Dr. du Maurier, came to see me. Just before I came here.” Jack stood in Hannibal’s kitchen as the other washed up, his belly pleasantly full and a glass of wine in his hand. Hannibal only glanced up from his dishes. “Said she wasn’t going to work with us anymore. Said she wasn’t working with you anymore.”

Hannibal set aside a dish to dry, toweled off his hands and took up his own wine glass.

“Dr. du Maurier and I were not seeing eye to eye on my therapy anymore. She chose to end it.” He explained simply, sipping his wine.

“I think it’s irresponsible of her. She thinks you’ve been traumatized by Will Graham, she said so herself yet she’s ending your treatment?” Jack slammed down his wine glass on the counter, the contents sloshing over and spilling red onto the counter and floor. Jack cursed.

“Sorry, let me get it.”

“Nonsense, you’re my guest.” Hannibal smoothly picked up a towel and moved around the island to clean up the mess, bending down to get the drops on the floor, one hand reaching out to grasp Jack’s calf to steady himself. He smirked up at Jack from his lower position.

“Doctor Lecter,” Jack chuckled, “you’re teasing me. Get back up here.” He helped Hannibal upright and pulled him into his personal space. Hannibal pressed Jack against the counter, Jack’s hand landing in the spilled wine when he steadied himself.

“Why does it seem like lately you’ve been cleaning up all of my messes?”

“Hm,” Hannibal kissed him slowly, their lips taking time to re-explore familiar territory. “Someone has to do it,” he said, resting his forehead against Jack’s. “You’re very effective at your job, Jack, but sometimes you resemble a bull in a china shop.” He grabbed Jack’s hand from the counter, stained with wine, with a pointed look as he kissed the palm and lapped up some of the wine.

“Yes, but who’s making sure you don’t get broken in the process?” Jack moved his hand to Hannibal’s cheek. Hannibal pulled back a bit, putting some distance between them.

“I am not your fragile tea cup, Jack. I will not shatter so easily.” Hannibal’s unsaid words hung between them. _Not like Will shattered._ Jack sighed.

“Dr. du Maurier said you were traumatized by Will. Maybe we both were.”

“Will is a poorly cauterized wound that has melded us together. The bleeding has stopped, but it will be a long time before the smell of burning flesh is gone.” Finally Hannibal pulled away fully from Jack to grab the wine bottle. He offered it to Jack who shook his head.

“I should be going. I need to prepare for Will’s trial. I’m sure I’ll see you there.”

“Of course.”

\--

Their glasses clink, full of fine amber liquid. Will’s trial wasn’t easy, but Jack could feel good about standing up for his friend. He feels good about his “professional suicide.”

“I’m thinking of taking Bella to Italy where we met. We could…..she could die there.” His eyes faded away from Hannibal’s face, looking into nothing, looking at death where it waited ever in the background.

“Jack, you’re not sick. You don’t have to go into the ground with her. Your life will still be here. The FBI could still be something for you.”

“You’re telling me not to commit professional suicide.” Jack’s face hardened. His professional life had been always about death. And now death was in his home. It surrounded him. It could reach out and touch him.

Hannibal stood from his spot on the arm of his chair and reached out for Jack, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m telling you to not do something for the short term emotional satisfaction. The FBI will still have a place for you to save lives. And I will still be here as well.” Jack brought his hand up and clasped Hannibal’s on his shoulder.

\--

An ear falls out of the mail. A bailiff is murdered. Someone writes a love note to Will Graham. Jack is cautious in his optimism. If someone recreated all of these crimes to absolve Will, he and Will might survive this whole ordeal.

\--

“Who is taking the stand in my place?” Alana was furious at the lawyer for putting Will at risk like this, at Will himself for just going along with it. He seemed so passive right now.

“Hannibal Lecter. He shared the case file with Mr. Graham. Suggested he could help us with these new developments.” The lawyer sat back in his chair, a smirk upon his face.

“This whole time Will has been accusing Hannibal of these murders! You’re pulling a complete about face here.” Alana turned desperately from the lawyer to Will. “Do you really want to go through with this?”

“Do you think Hannibal is the killer?” Will asked quietly, not looking up from the spot on the table he had been studying. Alana sighed.

“I know that you didn’t mean for any of this to happen, whether you killed someone or whether there was someone framing you.” That was the best she could answer. She was struggling to hold on to her faith in Will. It was even harder to reconcile the years she had known Hannibal with Will’s fervent conviction that he was a killer.

“Dr. Lecter will take the stand. This way you won’t have to worry about explaining your….professional curiosity about me.” Will’s tone turned bitter. Alana felt it like a cold slap, frost sticking to her cheek. There was nothing more she could say.

\--

“Are you sure about this Hannibal? Taking the stand for Will could put your own reputation at risk.” He and Jack were outside the courtroom with a few minutes to wait.

“I am sure. It will be good for Will, and you, to see the best of me. I’m hoping it will help clear Will’s head and stop his accusations.”

“I know you’re not a killer, Hannibal. You don’t have to prove anything to me.” Jack’s conviction was strong enough to knock down a stone wall. Hannibal smiled at Jack, his hand coming up discreetly to rest on the juncture connecting Jack’s neck and shoulder. His thumb traced Jack’s cheek briefly.

“I appreciate your faith in me, Jack.” He said quietly.

The doors to the court room opened. It was time for the trial

\--

 _I’m ruling this testimony inadmissible._ Now the judge himself was inadmissible.

Hannibal sat in his office, the chair across from him empty. Hollow. His earlier rage had boiled and congealed into something more. A finely crafted tool to facilitate his wrath. Now he was empty.

Slowly he stood and approached his desk, retrieving his phone from the drawer. He sent off a quick message. What was the point of a wrathful victory if it did not include passion?

_Come to my office. Please._

\--

Jack made it to Hannibal’s office in record time, the empty rooms and faceless corridors of his own left far behind. He needed this distraction.

He already looked the part of ruffled adulterer, his tie and jacket left haphazardly in the back of his car and his top few buttons undone. Hannibal, of course, was his usual picture of refined control when he met Jack at the door. Or at least that’s what Jack assumed he looked like since Hannibal was upon him before he could get even a single word out of his mouth.

Hannibal’s mouth was a brand upon his own, an urgent burning that brought them together. The doctor’s onslaught banished any thoughts of trials or cancer treatments from Jack’s mind as he was pulled forward by his shirt collar, the door behind him kicked closed.

Within seconds the pair was planted at the edge of Hannibal’s desk, the doctor sitting on the desk with Jack pressed against him between his legs. Jack pulled back for a moment, panting, to take in everything that was Hannibal.

The man still had the gall to look put together and pristine aside from his panting mouth and burning eyes. Jack growled low in his throat and moved back in, his lips and teeth meeting Hannibal’s jaw. He wanted to take Hannibal apart and tarnish his pristine image. He wanted to mark him. It wasn'ta matter of ownership. After all, who could claim to own Hannibal Lecter? Jack needed reassurance, tangible evidence that this was real. He was here and that mattered.

Hannibal’s hands set to pulling Jack’s shirt from his pants as he tilted his head back to allow better access to the other’s mouth. Jack’s big hands were everywhere, tugging at his tie, pulling at the buttons on his vest and then his shirt, running through his hair. Jack was in the process of sucking a somewhat too noticeable for Hannibal’s liking mark into his neck when Hannibal decided to change the game.

He tugged at Jack’s shirt to pop off a button. As it clattered to the floor and Jack was distractedly swearing under his breath, Hannibal jutted his hips forward, grabbing Jack and switching their positions. He then casually dropped to his knees in front of the other.

Jack swore again, looking down at Hannibal. He certainly looked thoroughly wrecked. His hair was a mess and his lips red. There was a mark on his neck that was only partially covered by his collar.

“Hannibal,” Jack’s hand went to Hannibal’s hair, “you don’t have to-“

“Nonsense,” Hannibal waved him off nonchalantly as he focused on undoing Jack’s belt, as if he often spent time on his knees before another man in his own office. “I want to.”

Any other words of protest flew from Jack's mind as Hannibal pulled his slacks and boxers to his thighs.  Jack leaned his head back and blew out a long breath while Hannibal's tongue explored the underside of his erection from base to tip. He was determined to enjoy this, they had certainly been avoiding the issue of genital interaction for long enough. Hannibal’s hand followed his tongue’s trail with a teasing brush of his fingers as he smirked up at Jack.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked smugly, his breathe coming out in small warm puffs along Jack’s shaft. Jack groaned in frustration.

“Hannibal, don’t tease m- shit.” He gasped as Hannibal swiftly swallowed him down, his tongue swirling around the head and his hands gripping Jack’s thighs. Jack’s hand went back from Hannibal’s desk to his hair, gripping his blonde locks tightly. The doctor groaned around his dick in response and pulled back slowly before taking him down again. He set a slow pace then, taking Jack deep into his mouth and groaning often. Jack’s hand in Hannibal’s is gentle, tugging slightly only to help him fight the urge to buck into Hannibal’s mouth.

It’s only when Hannibal has sped up his efforts, taking in smaller mouthfuls while sucking and lapping at the head that Jack’s phone rings in his pocket.

“Fuck, Hannibal, fuck stop I have to-“ he was cut off by a groan as Hannibal took him deeply once again and swallowed. Jack felt the sparks of orgasm building, surely the phone could wait. He was so close and it had been so long. How important of a call could it be? He struggled to think of the time. It was late. It could be work. They could leave a message couldn’t they?

It could be Bella.

“Hannibal,” Jack’s voice was harsh now, his tone saved usually for scaring new trainees, “enough.” He pulled back on Hannibal’s hair sharply as he pulled out of his mouth with a pop while fumbling for his phone. Hannibal remained on his knees, wiping stray spit from his mouth and chin with his hand, looking almost put-out. Jack set the phone to his ear.

“Jack, there you are. Thought you’d never pick up. Listen, something’s happened. You need to come to the courthouse immediately.” It was Beverly. Jack felt his arousal wither like crops in a drought.

“The judge from Will’s trial is dead.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jack felt almost as horrific as this crime scene. After Beverly’s call, he and Hannibal had tried to put themselves back together. So far the good doctor was the only one succeeding. Aside from his slightly ruffled hair and chapped lips, Hannibal looked as put together as ever.

Jack was less fortunate. His tie and jacket were a crumpled mess from the back of his car, his shirt missing a button. Jack was left with the distinct feeling that he had left his dignity back in Hannibal’s office.

His team was as effective as ever despite the strange hour. Jack often wondered if Zeller ever slowed down and Pryce was right there with him tonight. Only Beverly seemed off as she quietly took in Jack’s appearance at his arrival with Hannibal.

“Rough night Jack?” She had asked. Jack brushed passed with his usual brusqueness and a gruff “where’s the damn crime scene?” Now though, as he and Hannibal stood on the side lines while his team worked, Jack could not help but fidget with his appearance. This was no way to show up to a crime scene.

“You’re only making it worse. Allow me.” Hannibal gripped his arm and pulled him away from the bustle around the body.

Beverly watched from a distance as Hannibal straightened Jack’s tie, re-buttoned mismatched buttons on his shirt and smoothed the front of his jacket by running his hands over Jack’s chest.

“They’re getting awfully touchy-feely” she mused under her breath.

“What’s that Bev?” Zeller asked from the other side of the corpse.

“Oh, nothing…” she responded as Jack rejoined the group and demanded answers in his usual style. Pryce and Zeller quickly stepped in and Beverly filed her observation away for later.

\--

Beverly visits Will the next day with a report on their gruesome muralist.

“Please don’t say it was Hannibal Lecter.” She is exasperated at this point. She had to wonder what Will would try to pin on the doctor next. Maybe he would accuse him of stealing the Mona Lisa.

“I’m saying Hannibal Lecter.”

“Didn’t you stop ringing that bell?”

“I’m not asking you to prove something that can’t be proven.” Will was relentless.

“Hannibal Lecter,” her voice shook slightly, a flash of the doctor’s hands running over Jack’s suit jacket in her mind, “has no reason to do any of this.” Will of course picked up on the change and pressed in.

“You know something.”

“Dr. Lecter has been…. He and Jack have-“ Will jumped in, gripping the bars of his cell, voice frantic.

“Have what, Beverly? What has Hannibal been doing with Jack?” She sighed and crossed her arms as a defensive measure.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” She dropped her arms. “I’ll keep looking for something clever, but I’m not looking for Hannibal.” Despite Will’s continued questioning, she had nothing left to say. Beverly walked away as Will’s voice followed her down the corridor.

\--

“Jack is going to feel your absence like a draft in winter. The light in his life will be blown out.”

“My absence is inevitable. Fall has ended and there is frost on the leaves. I want to let nature take its course while I still have my dignity.” Hannibal observed Bella Crawford coolly. She met the soft burn in his eyes with empty eyes, her gaze a frigid lake.

“You’re considering ending your life.” He is indifferent, distant. As always he is curious.

“Suicide seems like a valid solution to my problem.”

“How does that make you feel?” Hannibal watched as the ice around Bella melted and caught a glimpse of spring.

“Alive.”

\--

“I’m supporting my wife.” Jack states, a laugh in the shadow of his words. It feels good. He had stayed home tonight, skipping his weekly dinner at Hannibal’s. Jack had to admit that guilt had been one of his main motivators tonight. His skin had felt ill-fitting today as the ghosts of Hannibal’s hands and lips followed him everywhere.

He shouldn’t be thinking of a warm mouth and strong hands when he was meant to remember rays of sunshine on an Italian beach and the feeling of a warm laugh reverberating from the soft chest pressed against his own. He should be savoring his light while it was still here.

Bella lays in the bed beside him, the space between them feeling like a vast ocean. He cannot touch her anymore for fear of hurting her. It is painful to see her so fragile when she should be so strong.

“…and there will be a time where there is nothing you can do. I don’t want you to remember me pleading for you to make the pain go away.” Jack feels tears burning at the back of his eyes. He grasps her offered hands as gently as he can, wishing he could pull her to him. He wants to absorb her very being and keep her light and laughter inside of himself. He wants to consume her. He would do anything to stop her suffering.

\--

That night hot hands pull him, kicking and screaming, from within a frigid lake devoid of light and into a burning light. The comforts of warmth and sight are lost on him. He wants only to bury himself in the absence of what was once within the lake.

Jack wakes up sweating and gasping.

\--

“Go to Jack, Beverly, tell him everything.” Will’s voice is frantic, his shaking hands rattling his cuffs. He can see now and the horror of it is almost too much.

“I can’t bring this to Jack. Even if I could back it up…” She trails off, unsure once again if she should mention what she has seen to Will. Surely it would only add fuel to his fire.

“What are you hiding from me?” Will is still now, voice controlled. The abrupt change in his demeanor hits Beverly like a rock. Her thoughts falter and then press on at a gallop.

“I’ve seen Jack with Dr. Lecter. They have been…acting out of character.”

“Out of character how? I need to know. If we can’t trust Jack…” Will’s calm is slowly shattering, pieces flaking off and making way for cracks in the foundation.

“Touching. Jack let Hannibal fix his tie, button his shirt. He ran his hands over Jack’s chest. And you know how Jack is…”

“You know how Hannibal Lecter is. This is too much. If the Ripper, if Hannibal has gotten close to Jack, things could be much worse than we thought.”

“Now you’re accusing him of being the Chesapeake Ripper too? Will this is enough. I’m sorry I said anything.” Beverly pushed away from the table. Will’s cuffs clattered as he reached out for her, pleading for her to hear him out.

“Beverly please.” She stopped, halfway out the door and sighed.

“If Hannibal Lecter is the Ripper, and I’m not saying he is, then what is he doing with his trophies?”

Will thinks back, reaching for the missing piece of the puzzle. He visibly swallows and then gags. When he looks at Beverly again, he is paler than ever.

“He’s eating them.”

\--

Bella Crawford is the finest piece of china, a beautifully crafted and delicate cup that has been well loved. And now her edges are chipped and her handle fallen off. Hannibal has to help her cross the room.

“It is disconcerting not being able to cross the room.” Her hand is cold on his arm, her grip weak.

“There is nothing more unnerving for someone strong than feeling weak.” Hannibal’s words are a hundred miles away from her floating awareness. It is a comfort to know she does not have much longer. She could not bear to have Jack carry her in their home again. He had whispered sweet nothings to her every step of the way with a brave face. But she could see how it broke him, cracks running through his foundations.

“I have something for you.” She hands Hannibal her little gift, the coin with the rooster on it. “I’m paying my debt. For helping me understand that death is not a defeat but a cure.” Hannibal pauses and scents the air. Behind the smells of her desperation and disease he finds it; a sharp, too clean scent, something medical.

“What have you taken Bella?”

“My morphine,” she replies brightly. “Every bit of it. I didn’t want to die at home, I didn’t want Jack to find me. I didn’t want him making that call in the room, waiting with my body while it became something ceremonial. Something separate from who I was, from him. Someone he can only hold in his mind.” She is fading now, blissfully surrendering.

“You denied him his goodbye.” Hannibal is matter of fact, no judgment in his tone.

“I denied him a painful goodbye and allowed myself a peaceful one.” Breathing is hard now. But this is important. “Tell Jack, I love him very much.”

“Yes.” His sincerity is her last comfort. She says goodbye and falls into death’s warm embrace. There is peace here for her.

“Goodbye, Bella.”

With her last breath the large room is drowned in silence. Hannibal savors it, drinks it, holding his own breath for as long as possible. Finally, with his slow exhale, he sits back as if this were any regular therapy session and grabs the coin. He flips it and his decision is made.

He waits five minutes before calling the ambulance.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack’s office is empty early, something Beverly has not seen happen in a long time. She stops Zeller as he passes down the hall. He looks troubled.

“Hey, have you seen Jack?”

“Oh, no there was some emergency with his wife. Dr. Lecter called from the hospital.”

“Is Mrs. Crawford okay?” She is almost afraid to ask. Zeller falls silent.

“He didn’t say… We wanted to go and support Jack, but I don’t think he wants us to see him… Plus Dr. Lecter is there with him.” Beverly’s eyes narrow. She can hear Will’s voice. _If the Ripper is close to Jack…_ Just as Zeller is about to turn away she grabs his arm.

“We should be there. For Jack. Dr. Lecter is so…” she searches for the right word, “much like Crisco. He’s bland. Jack will need us there.”

“Yeah…” Zeller nods. “You’re right. We owe it to him. I’ll go get Jimmy.”

\--

“I’m here.” Jack is kissing her limp hand, his eyes red and cheeks wet. “I’m here.” Hannibal says again as he places his hand on Jack’s back. He stands beside Jack at his wife’s death bed. Without the usual hospital sounds of various monitors beeping and doctors coming and going, the room seemed desolate. Bella’s passing sucked the vitality from Jack’s world and left behind only the starkest of deserts.

The last bit of movement came from the doctor announcing time of death before quietly excusing himself. That was over an hour ago.

Hannibal moves a chair to Jack’s side and settles on it before gently running his hand over Jack’s bowed head. He rests it on the back of Jack’s neck, almost possessively.

“We should allow the nurses to come in, Jack. Let me take you home. There is much that needs to be done. You need your rest.” Jack’s responding groan is almost feral in its brokenness.

“No, no she needs me. I wasn’t there earlier, I have to stay.” His voice cracks. “She needed me.”

“She was absolving you. Belle cleared you of any responsibility in her suffering. She wanted to save you from her pain.” Hannibal keeps his tone calm, soothing, knowing that he walks through the mine field that is Jack’s emotional stability.

“She condemned me.”

\--

It is late when Hannibal finally removes Jack from the room. Outside awaits his team. The doctor’s had refused them entry despite Beverly’s many requests and even one attempt at her idea of a stealthy entry that was foiled by a very stern nurse. When they do see Jack, any words they had planned turn to dust. Even Zeller has nothing to offer.

Jack barely sees them as he is guided by Hannibal’s hand on his back. That stirs something in Beverly, who finally comes forward.

“Jack…” she would have hugged him if she didn’t already know it would go unreturned. She settles instead for pressing his arm as comfortingly as possible. “We can’t….There’s nothing…” She takes a deep breath. “Let me drive you home or pick up something for you. We’re all here for you.” Jack stares up at her dully. Later he would come to appreciate his team’s support but for now it was lost on him.

“Thank you Ms. Katz,” Hannibal steps forward and grips Jack’s arm. “But that won’t be necessary. I’ll be taking Jack home.” Beverly tries to stare down Hannibal, standing her ground.

“You must be exhausted, Doctor. We’re here for Jack too.” She sees Hannibal’s grip on Jack’s arm tighten. It seems he doesn’t appreciate her support.

“How kind of you. However, I am already prepared to care for Jack.” He starts to lead Jack down the hall. “You may come see him, when he is ready, at my home.”

“Dr. Lecter-“ Beverly is cut off by Pryce and Zeller.

“C’mon Bev, give him some space!”

“There’s nothing more we can do here.” With a defeated sigh, Beverly watches Jack be lead away before following her colleagues out.

\--

Hannibal drives Jack’s car, his own left behind when he rode in the ambulance, first to the Crawfords’ residence. He gathers some clothing for Jack and, on a whim, grabs a framed photo of Bella as she was in Italy, young, laughing and, above all, healthy. He will offer it to Jack later.

Jack says nothing on the way to Hannibal’s home and Hannibal has little to offer him. Jack follows Hannibal silently once they get to his house.

“Come upstairs and I’ll run the bath for you. You must be exhausted.” Now in the privacy of Hannibal’s foyer, he helps Jack out of his suit jacket and then cups Jack’s face in his hands. Jack does look at him then, registering the change in location briefly before turning back into his grief. Where ever it is taking him, Hannibal cannot reach him there.

He turns and leads the way to the master bedroom upstairs, trusting that Jack will follow. It is only at the doorway to the bedroom that Jack pauses. Hannibal is already fussing with the taps in the bath before he notices Jack’s absence.

“Jack,” he walks back into the bedroom. “Are you coming?” Jack finally breaks his silence.

“I’m not… My wife….” He tries to process how he started this morning in his own bed with Bella and now he is here. Hannibal Lecter is inviting him into his room and Jack will never again wake up next to Bella. Hannibal, suddenly, is before him.

“You need to wash up, Jack. Smelling like a hospital will do you no good.” He holds out his hand. “Come. I will help.”

Jack steadies himself, takes a deep breath, and then he is taking Hannibal’s hand and crossing the threshold. Things will never be the same.

In the en suite bathroom Jack allows Hannibal to divest him of his clothing while the bath fills with warm water. Jack finally releases a slow breath as he sinks into the water, his eyes closing in both relief and exhaustion. It was nice to be surrounded by the scents of soap and shampoo rather than the stench of the hospital.

A warm cloth presses against his chest and he jumps, opening his eyes to see that Hannibal is washing him. The other man shushes him before he can argue. Jack rests his head back and lets Hannibal rinse away his grief, if only for a moment.

\--

“You do know what time it is, don’t you Ms. Katz? I do not normally allow visitors to my patients at this hour. And on such short notice…” Beverly fights the urge to roll her eyes as she stands before Dr. Chilton’s desk. The man had always rubbed her the wrong way with his pretentious suits and his clumsy patient care. She reminded him of a high school freshman fumbling to unhook a girl’s bra for the first time.

He made her skin crawl. She put on her best smile.

“I am aware of the hour, thank you Dr. Chilton. However I am afraid a pressing matter has come up. I really do need to see Mr. Graham. You know how it is with the FBI….” Chilton sneers at that.

“Yes. I do. Well,” he pretends to think it over. “I suppose I will let you in. But do make it quick, won’t you? I would like to go home at some point.” As he pulls out his keys, Beverly holds back an indignant snort. As if he has anything to come home to.

Chilton leads the way through his prized facility, talking incessantly the whole time. _Poor Will,_ Beverly thinks. _He has to sit in a cage and listen to this shit._ Unsurprisingly, Will is still awake, sitting on his cot, when they arrive, though he does seem surprised to see Beverly.

“Will,” she breathes, “something’s happened.” He stands up, a frown crossing his face, and approaches the bars.

“It’s Mrs-“ Will holds up his hand and interrupts.

“Dr. Chilton, I believe I’m allowed some privacy when consulting with the FBI.” His tone is almost as unpleasant as Chilton’s responding sneer.

“Of course Mr. Graham.” The doctor leaves the pair behind, his cane’s indignant clicking following him down the hall. Will finally presses against the bars.

“What is it?”

“Mrs. Crawford is dead. She was brought to the hospital today by Hannibal Lecter.” She knows how this will incite Will but at this point she almost wants to believe him.

“Did he murder her?” She has never heard Will’s tone be so dark. She shakes her head.

“I think I heard one of the nurses say it was morphine overdose.”

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t a murder.” Will turns around, as if he can physically distance himself from the thought. “Where’s Jack?” he asks over his shoulder.

“That’s what I’m worried about.” Beverly gulps. “He’s at Lecter’s. The doctor is apparently caring for him in his grief.”

In a blink Will has whirled around and is back before the bars.

“You let him take Jack! He could-“

“I didn’t ‘let’ him do anything. Jack wanted to go!” She huffs. “Look, before you get all accusatory, it’s not like he can just murder Jack when we all know that’s who he’s with.”

“I know,” Will sighs, “you’re right.”

“I want to start investigating further. Tell me where to start.” It is Beverly’s turn to press against the bars, the night guard’s attention turned towards his television.

“Here’s what you do…”

\--

Hannibal leaves Jack in the bath with a towel and a promise to return with pajamas. As Jack dries himself he cannot meet his own reflection’s eye. He looks drawn and ragged and feels as if he has aged 10 years in the last five hours. Only Hannibal’s polite knock can pull him away from the caricature in the mirror. The doctor has changed into his own pajamas and offers Jack a pair taken from his house.

“Do require anything before bed? Some food perhaps? When is the last time you ate?” He lays the clothes neatly on the counter. Jack tries and fails to remember his last meal. The entire day before his arrival at the hospital has been lost.

“I couldn’t eat.” Hannibal leaves him again and once he is dressed he reenters the bedroom only to find it empty. Caught by indecisiveness, he stands awkwardly in the middle of the room until he hears Hannibal’s voice from the hall telling him to make himself comfortable, that he needs his rest.

It takes almost ten minutes for Hannibal to return bearing a glass of water and Jack has already gotten over any discomfort as he discovers just how exhausted he really is.

“You need to keep up your fluids. Please drink this before you sleep.” Hannibal offers the class and Jack acquiesces, though he is beyond feeling thirst. With a nod, Hannibal crosses to turn off the light switch before turning to leave the room. Jack stops him.

“Hannibal,” it’s the first time he’s spoken without first being addressed all evening. “Stay.”

Hannibal joins him.


End file.
